They are trying to plant some seedlings. Prin discovered some seed packets on the back of one of the shelves, and Mum agreed they could have them, along with a mossy bag of compost and some brown plastic flowerpots.

They are allowed to play in the potting shed, so long as they don’t touch Daddy’s tools. That’s the rule. But that’s fine; they can plant the seedlings with their bare hands, so long as Jane isn’t a baby about getting a bit of dirt under her nails.

It’s cool and quiet in the shed. Mum and Daddy are busy in the garden too. Mum is weeding in the flowerbeds – Prin can see her through the open doorway, her elbows rising and falling – and Daddy is mowing the lawn out front.

Prin crouches down and lines up the empty plant pots. They’ve got six of them, all the same size. To be honest, they look a bit plain and boring, and one of them has a crack in the bottom.

‘Whatever,’ she says out loud to Jane. ‘They’ll do. Now we just have to fill them up.’

The compost from the bag is crumbly and smells funny. It seems very dry; these seedlings are going to need a lot of water. Prin digs out a handful and presses it into a pot. Mummy said, once planted, it would take at least a month for the seedlings to grow. Prin didn’t think of that before. She can plant the seeds, but the pot will still look pretty much like it does now, not the riot of flowers she’d pictured.

Still, Prin fills another pot. She might as well; she can’t think of anything else for them to do. She and Jane have exhausted all her games and toys. She’s bored of colouring, bored of dolls, bored of practising cartwheels. Actually, she’s just bored bored bored. Prin’s skirt hangs across her knees. She’s probably showing her knickers a bit, squatting like this, but who cares? It’s too hot and, anyway, it’s only Jane who would notice.

And Jane isn’t even looking.

Instead she’s gazing up at the cupboard stuck up on the wall where Daddy keeps his tools. There’s a saw in there and a hammer and a chisel and a whole set of screwdrivers, all different sizes, all ordered neatly on their own little pegs. The catch on the door has come loose and Daddy hasn’t fixed it yet, so the doors are hanging open. They look a bit like they’re panting in the heat.

Jane goes on staring at the cupboard. ‘I know a game,’ she says. She gets to her feet and peers right into the tool cabinet.

Prin sighs. ‘We aren’t supposed to touch those. They’re Daddy’s.’ She adds another dry handful to a pot.